


Saudade

by Tahoe_Tess_Tudnas



Category: Sherlock (TV), The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Female Bilbo Baggins/Thorin Oakenshield, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Grief/Mourning, M/M, Mutual Pining, Reincarnation, Repressed Memories, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-10
Updated: 2016-02-12
Packaged: 2018-05-19 10:53:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,235
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5964616
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tahoe_Tess_Tudnas/pseuds/Tahoe_Tess_Tudnas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>(n). The longing to be near again to something or someone that is distant, or that has been loved and then lost. "The Love That Remains." </p><p>At the moment though, Thomas doesn’t care a whit about Finn, laughing as he is at his back, because right now, the pixie girl infuriates him in a way he's never been before, glaring up with her tiny fists clenched at her sides, looking for all the world like an enraged kitten, and all he wants to do (in the abruptly stupid, caveman part of his mind) is kiss her. </p><p>(And that particularly enflaming thought feels familiar too – the whole bloody situation’s oddly unsettling. He might have to go see Owen). </p><p>Later, Thomas would wonder vaguely if he should thank that meddling old Wizard, or curse him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue: The Search

Her first life goes about as well as to be expected.

She goes on an adventure with thirteen dwarves and a wizard. Somehow along the way, she fights Trolls and goblins and orcs and spiders all the while falling in love with an oblivious, growling badger of a dwarf king, who is more likely to throw her off a mountain than marry her. She riddles with a dragon, steals a pretty stone, and plays part in a vicious battle that haunts the rest of her years. Eventually, she returns back to her little hobbit-hole alone with only a broken heart, a letter-opener, and a magic ring to show for it. Her nephew joins her there and her last years are spent filled with regret and longing and a madness that has little to do with the trinket _(precious)_ and more to do with the fact that her dwarves – her family – were no longer there. It is mostly with relief when she sails away with the elves to join the other side.

Or at least, she thought. 

Her second, third, and fourth lives are tangled up with confusion, memories that are far too clear, and an overwhelming feeling of loneliness. She remembers her first life clearly and doesn’t know if it’s random reincarnation or a malicious curse that she is reborn in the dawn of the Age of Men. The elves have disappeared and the dwarves have all but retreated into the pages of legends. In those lives, she bumbles about confused and soul-weary, wondering if this is to be her lonely fate. She doesn’t even think to search for any of the others; instead, dedicating herself to learning and keeping everyone at a distance. They all will die, they will leave her alone, and she cannot bear that burden again. She never finds another family and she never falls in love – forever haunted by intense blue eyes and raven black hair and a strong back that proudly bore the weight of his people.

It isn’t until her fifth life that she finds any of them again. It is Dwalin of all people – going by Demetrius - and he is a part of the city guard. Rome is under attack and she is a courtesan in the halls of the Caesar here, which means that she is of little importance so she has been left behind while the Caesar retreats from his burning city.

She cannot bring herself to care.

Instead, she moves to help in the healing tents as more and more soldiers are brought in. She sees Dwalin on one of the beds and for a long moment, she cannot breathe – too lost in memories of a tall, bulky, and tattooed dwarf who darkened her front door so long ago. She looks frantically around because surely, even in another life, Dwalin would never leave Thorin’s side. But it is only him she sees and she holds his hand as this Dwalin dies from an arrow wound shot though his lung and tries not to cry when he looks at her with no recognition in his eyes. She herself dies with tears in her eyes and a sword stabbed through her heart shortly after.

Of course, now that she knows they are out there, her next five lives are spent trying to track down the rest. It is far from easy or simple and there’s the Vikings and the Black Plague (nasty business, that) and that awfully unfortunate time when some horrible person in Germany decided to kill off an entire population based on their _religion_. She watches as the British empire rises and falls, sees America became less a land and more of a country, and knows that she will never ever understand Man and his incessant ambition.

It is far beyond her anyway – she’s just a simple hobbit, even if it’s only in her mind.

Her frantic search takes her across the world – which is no longer called Middle Earth and now has wild places across oceans called Africa and India and Australia. Mostly, she misses them by moments – catching fleeting glimpses of the Sons of Fundin, the Family ‘Ur, the Brothers ‘Oin, and the Brothers ‘Ri. When she does work up the courage to talk to them, they look at her like a stranger and that burns more than she can bear. But the Baggins line has always been stubborn and she pushes past the pain to support her dwarves from the shadows as best she can, giving money or food or comfort – all anonymously, of course.

She never finds the line of Durin, at least not physically – though she looks back into the libraries and records and can sometimes track where the two rascals and their blasted (beloved) uncle have ended up over the years. It seems those three would forever mark the pages of history.

She never finds them all at once – they are far too scattered and her lives are far too short (a fact she wouldn’t have mourned until now).

It is in her 13th life that she tries to give up the search. She is born to a middle-class family in 1920’s England and she is tired with scattered centuries of memories captured across nearly 2,000 years. Her parents don’t know what to do with this too bright, solemn-eyed child that recites old dates and fantastical stories as though she had lived through them (she had). She tries to be a good daughter this time and follows through the motions, going to school, and eventually becoming a nurse just in time to watch World War II come into play. She stays in England and feels no fear, even as the bombing starts in London and her own father has gone off to war. Desperately, she ignores the twisting worry in her gut – where are they where are they where are they – and instead tends to her duties, healing civilians and soldiers and mourning the need for war.

Then suddenly, they are all there. Dwalin’s a soldier she heals with a bum leg and his brother is on the war council in Parliament; Dori’s helping her with the supply chain after his tea shop is blown away and Nori’s doing . . . whatever it is he does; Ori is a young student, fresh out of uni but not yet joined up with the army; Bombur’s a cook down at the barracks while Bofur still sings on street corners, bringing cheer back to a war-torn place; their cousin Bifur somehow is also under her care with a head injury that gets him mumbling. Gloin is an accountant while Oin manages the hospital. Inspired by the fact that they were actually there, she writes the story of her first life in her free time while the memories trickle in afresh and tweaks it a little bit before publishing the book under a false name (Men are still a bit more appreciated in the world, much to her feminine ire).

And although there is a war going on and they don’t remember her and she still doesn’t know where her boys and their uncle are, it is the closest she has ever been to finding home.

That is until a bomb strikes the hospital where she had been working - where all of her dwarves had gathered for dinner - and she is once again thrown back into the cycle.

Her new parents are at a loss as to why their new baby cries itself to sleep every night, wailing inconsolably.

She cannot form the words yet to tell them that she is grieving a home lost in another life.

She grows up with sorrow in her eyes and bitter anger in her heart before it solidifies into determination. She has never been one for self-pity. It is a new millennium and she is done with the pain and sadness and this whole never-ending bloody cycle. Her new parents remind her of those from her first life – with a wild, cheerful mother and patient, respectable father tucked away in a small little borough in the rolling hills of England. She goes through school at a reasonable pace, never revealing her ancient knowledge or correcting teachers in their false assumptions (The Battle of Hastings was in the year 1099, thank you very much, and Shakespeare was a total perv).

She graduates university at the age of 15 though, and as soon as she’s 18, she moves to London to get her Master’s in Economics and History. Her parents die young unfortunately, leaving her with the family inheritance and manor (much to her cousins’ ire – one of which reminds her shockingly of Lobelia).

Against her family’s wishes, she cashes the fortune, sells the manor, and narrows her focus on the wonderful world of the stock market, with the help of a deeply trusted family financial advisor named Gregori Garrison who eerily reminds her of Gandalf - without the Grey. Under his careful watch, her wealth rises significantly until she is on par with the other big money makers of this generation (she doesn’t care). Her money sits there to be used and played with by Gregori or to be donated to one of several charities she believes in (though every now and again she bends to the will of her cousins, giving them a little bit more to play with).

Technology has advanced significantly (thank god for Google) and money moves mountains so it doesn’t take her long at all (roughly 5 years give or take) to track down her remaining family, even the line of Durin.

Dwalin and Balin, now go by Darwin and Benjamin Fitzdavin, both of whom run the largest international security and tech company out of London under the watchful eye of their chairman and CEO Thomas Armstrong – her once and future king, Thorin.

His story is a legend in the modern business world – one where his father had ruined the family fortune and Thomas had brought it back through shrewd business sense and sheer, bloody determination.

As for her beloved boys, Fili is a rising star in the club football world while Kili rules the lacrosse team at his university. Their faces and wild behavior fill up the rag magazines, and she cannot help but read about them fondly – knowing their uncle was most likely having a heart attack with their antics. They now fall under the names of Finnigan and Kenneth (Finn and Kenn for short) Armstrong and are slated to follow in their uncle’s footsteps.

Oliver, Daniel, and Nathan Orby (Ori, Dori, and Nori respectively) are not far away. Nori works Intelligence at Thorin’s side while Ori is advancing the archives in the London Library, publishing history papers that she loves to read. Dori owns the family tea shop – a famous little place in Surrey which features tea from India to the Americas and back.

The Family ‘Ur are a little bit more difficult to find until she catches sweet Bombur (Bobby) in a glowing review for a new restaurant downtown. At his side (like always), is cheerful Bofur (Brent) and mumbling Bifur (Brock). All three own the now five-star restaurant and thrive in it. She wonders for a moment if they are connected to the others before she sees Dalia Armstrong, sister to Thomas and mother to the Armstrong twins, standing in the picture as well. The famous socialite was commending the restaurant for its fantastic food, saying that she would gladly support their business through any means necessary even if she had to eat there by herself every day.

She giggles at the thought.

She runs into Gloin (now Gary Gerard) quite by accident during a meeting with Gregori. He works at a bank (like always) and is one of the main investors in Thorin’s company. During their brief conversation (in which she is struggling not to burst into tears), he mentions his wife, his son Gilbert, and his brother Owen, who runs the main hospital downtown.

After those two, all her boys are accounted for and she even starts investing in their various interests, using the money she had gathered to buoy their success (that’s what it’s there for, after all). Aside from that, she decides to leave them alone. It still hurts too much to think of them as strangers and she is not sure she’ll survive the encounter.

Gregori knows of her (unhealthy) interest in these men but out of respect for her, he never asks about it. He carefully doesn’t mention her grouchy attitude whenever she sees Thorin in the papers with a new fling every week either.

Out of sheer boredom, she does use a sliver of her wealth to buy the beaten-up bookstore back in her quiet hometown and begins to spend the rest of her days hiding in the little countryside away from the bustle and hustle of the city. Even with her wealth, her real name remains unknown and she refuses to fall into the social circles of the rich and famous (how droll).

And there, behind leather bound bookshelves gathering dust and a fully worn-in armchair, she passes the time quietly, with the occasional visits from her many cousins and the daily morning phone call from Gregori until one day - for the first time in over 2,000 years - she comes face-to-face with a painfully familiar pair of blue eyes.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The girl actually has the gall to chuckle at him – him who is a business tycoon with oodles of money and was bluffing his way through legal proceedings and business deals when she was probably still in diapers.
> 
> “Why don’t you sign it and see if I am?” she challenges, motioning toward the deed with a strange sort of dare hidden in her gaze. “It could be an adventure.”

**

Thomas Armstrong glances at the piece of paper in his hand again, a darkening scowl upon his face before he looks up again at the crumbling establishment before him. It’s a large manor, roughly ten rooms in total with an expansive garden in the back, built in an Italian style with red-tiled roofs and white marble walls. The property’s secluded, off a remote street roughly twenty minutes from Broom Hill in northern England. The manor itself looks like no one’s there for about a decade, with large cobwebs hanging from the outer windows and vines creeping up and over the walls, intertwining through the metal gate which leads into the courtyard where a dead, dusty fountain stands in the middle and dry leaves lie scattered on the ground.

“Are you sure this is the place, Uncle?” Finn asks, raising an eyebrow at the rusted metal gate.

Thomas mumbles curses under his breath before reaching into his pocket for his phone and dialing a number quickly.

“Good morning.”

“Where the fuck did you lead us, Wizard?” Thomas growls out, ignoring Finn’s quiet snicker behind his back.

“Ah, Mr. Armstrong. How nice it is to hear those delightful tones of yours this early in the morning.”

Thomas forces himself not to grit his teeth.

Gregori Garrison (known as the Wizard in investment circles due to his uncanny foreknowledge of the market and eccentric attitude) had approached him earlier in the week at random with a proposal for a new house. How the man knew that he was planning on moving after his latest ex had turned stalker, he doesn’t know. But he took the proposal and had been significantly intrigued – enough to come up to this out-of-nowhere destination. Unfortunately, the picture must have been a decade old because it simply does not match the scene before him.

“The building looks like it hasn’t been used in over a decade,” he says plainly. “It doesn’t even match the picture. I’d have to redo all of it before I even consider moving in.” 

“Ah, so you _are_ thinking of moving in,” Gregori replies too cheerily, completely ignoring his complaints.

Thomas resists the urge to slap his head and instead sighs. Aside from the obvious disuse of the place, it is perfectly secluded and the small town is quiet and comfortable, hours away from the bustling city. Finn has an excited gleam in his eye as though thinking of all the ways he and his brother can wreak havoc in the backyard while Thomas already hears Dalia’s excitement at the possibilities of the interior design. Darwin’s going to have a field day with setting up the security of the house as well.

“Alright,” Thomas admits (because he knows a losing battle when he sees one). “How much do you want for it?”

“Oh dear, Mr. Armstrong,” Gregori chuckles on the other line. “It is not _me_ who will set the price.”

Thomas blinks and shares a look with Finn, who is obviously listening in to the conversation. “Who then?”

“The current owner’s name is Bob Bagley. Look for a bookstore in town. Shouldn’t be hard to find.” And with those frustratingly cryptic words, the line goes dead.

Thomas toys briefly with the idea of throwing his phone on the ground (it would be his fifth broken one this month), but instead just ends the call, running a hand through his shorn, black hair.

“So, where’re we heading then, Uncle?” Finn asks, far too cheerily. The little blond imp was grinning at him, twirling the keys around his finger, and Thomas barely resists the urge to bark at him.

“We’re headed for the bookstore in town,” he growls out, stomping back to their car. It’s a black Sudan, barely noticeable with tinted windows to keep out the rest of the rabble and more persistent paparazzi.

Still grinning, Finn climbs into the driver’s side (“We’ll never get there if you drive, even with Sat-Nav,” the little brat had said before the trip) and they turn back on the road. From the passenger seat, Thomas absently checks his iPhone, looking at updates from Ben and Nathan about their current stock while Finn plays with the radio. 

Out of bored curiosity, the business tycoon also decides to Google this Bob Bagley and is surprised to find nearly nothing on either the bookstore or the person in question. He frowns. There isn’t even a Facebook page from what he could tell. How odd in this day and age.

He’s still frowning as they pull up to the curb. The town of Broom Hill is almost absurdly small with just a post office, a local ministry for government, a church, a couple of restaurants and stores, and one hole-in-the-wall bookstore with the wooden sign of “The Bag’s End”, hanging in front of it. He briefly wonders if it’s a spin-off of the famous book he had read in his childhood before dismissing the thought.  

“Wow, this place is tiny,” Finn whistles, leaning over the steering wheel and looking at the store.

Thomas cuffs him upside the head. “Be nice. We need a good price on that manor.”

Finn ducks his head, but still grins widely before jumping out of the car with youthful enthusiasm.

Thomas opens his door and steps out onto the curb unhurriedly before glancing around while straightening his jacket. Even though it’s a surprisingly sunny English day, there’re very few patrons out and about, and all of which look to be in their retirement ages, moving at the usual small town pace. He doesn’t think any of them would recognize him or report him back to those rag reporters.

He hopes so, at least.

Shrugging his shoulders, he considers the bookstore again, scowling slightly. There’s a small display window to the right, filled with the large carving of a bright red wooden dragon and children’s books. The glass is faded and dull, while the bright green door into the shop has cracked chips in its paint and creaks in the wood. He somehow seriously doubts that anyone in here could own a manor. Hell, he doesn’t think they could afford a flat.

A silver bell rings loudly in the silence of the shop as Thomas opens the door, Finn stepping in right behind him.

At the sound, there’s a heavy thump, a crash that makes him wince, and a brief, muffled curse from somewhere behind the dusty shelves. “If that’s you again about Freddie, Lacy, I swear to all that’s holy that I will call your husband and tell him all about your time with the busboy in the alley,” an irritated voice rings out.

Finn chokes back laughter while Thomas fights back a smirk, clearing his throat. “If that’s the way you usually greet customers, I now understand the sad state of this place,” he says derisively. He is growing less and less impressed by the minute.  

Behind him, Finn rolls his eyes and whispers, “I thought you said we had to make nice.”

Thomas shrugs his shoulders unapologetically. He doubts that whoever appears is going to be the one who owns the manor. This is all probably a trick played by Gregori - the old bastard. 

There’s an awkward silence following his comment along with a brief amount of shuffling before someone emerges, carrying a box filled with an enormous amount of books.

It’s a woman - or at least he _thinks_ it’s a woman. Given her very slender stature and frazzled page-boy cut where blond curls stuck out in every which way, it’s hard to say. She’s covered in chalky dust from head to toe, and looks a tad bit flushed, a bit of red color curling up her cheeks all the way to the points of her ears.  The tight faded pink T-shirt she wears sticks out under blue jean overalls and a wrinkled, plain-green apron. Oddly enough, she had apparently grown out a sliver of hair, forming a braid the width of his pinkie which runs down the right side of her head and ends at the bottom of her chin with a dark blue bead.  To his utter bemusement, the woman’s also walking around barefoot, the bottom of her jeans rolled up to her ankle.

Upon seeing the two of them darkening her door, her eyebrows rise, something unfathomable passing through her eyes, and her pink mouth forms an O in the classic expression for surprise.

Then she laughs - loudly. Not in a feminine chuckle sort of way, but a great big bellow that appears to wrack her whole body. 

As the (admittedly sexy) CEO of a major international corporation, Thomas had actually experienced several different reactions to his appearance in a room. Lust, desire, ambitious greed, fear from his enemies, love from his family, awe from his employees.

Hysterical laughter is a new one. He’s pretty sure he doesn’t like it.

“Great Cesar’s ghost, what’s up with your hair?!” she gasps, the box in her arms shaking in mirth.

The young woman turns away immediately after saying that and places the box of books on a counter before turning back and abruptly bursting out into chuckles again, covering her mouth with a slender hand.

For a moment, Thomas feels oddly self-conscious and defensive and like he’s 15 years old all over again. He shares a glance with his nephew, who shrugs his shoulders and grins, bright blue eyes lit up with mirth. Thomas scowls before running a hand through his short hair (just to make sure nothing was in it) then openly glares at the woman.

“I hardly think you are one to talk,” Thomas drawls, his blue eyes narrowed at the bedhead she sports (in a surprisingly attractive way – though he won’t admit it _ever_ ).

The woman actually wipes a tear from her eye, before straightening. “Yes, but at least, I don’t look like I just walked out of a US military commercial for the emotionally repressed,” she smirks, laughter still clear in her voice while her Northern accent colors her words together. If he had been in a better mood, it would have been endearing.

Now, he just finds it annoying.

She lounges against the counter, a smirk still on her lips. “Anyway, what do you want?”

Thomas blinks at the question before frowning. “You are awfully rude for a bookkeeper,” he comments gruffly.  

“And you are too grouchy to be a customer,” she retorts, her voice mocking as she crosses her arms, tilting her chin up in defiance while meeting his angry glare head-on.

His esteem for the woman rises a little bit with that.

He’s awfully proud of that glare. It’s been molded to perfection through years of glaring annoying people (business moguls, clingy models, politicians, reporters, his own nephews) into puddles of intimidated goo.

And somehow, this pixie slip of a girl could meet it straight on unflinchingly. This has now risen even higher on his Things Which Infuriate Him list.

Though, he does feel a touch of familiarity in her look - in those bright hazel-green eyes - which he cannot determine.

Thomas shakes himself of his thoughts, remembering why he’s in a dusty bookshop in the first place.

“Your rudeness aside, we are looking for a Bob Bagley,” he says, enjoying the heated glare she casts his way before it cools and she settles for a raised eyebrow in response.

“And what would you like with Bob Bagley?” the pixie-woman casually asks, actually turning her slender back to them before she starts to unpack the books in the box with practiced ease.

Thomas feels his temper rise a bit at the casual dismissal before gritting his teeth and taking a heavy step forward. He needs that damn manor and as soon as she gives him the whereabouts of this Bobbi Bagley, he’s going to avoid the bloody bookshop and the infuriating pixie-woman till the end of his days

“We are looking to buy his manor,” he explains. “Mr. Gregori Garrison informed us that he would be here.”

The woman pauses in her movements, shoulders tensing slightly at the name. He hears her mutter a curse underneath her breath before she turns her head to look at him with a frown. “Why do you need the manor?”

His face darkens with a scowl as he crosses his arms. “That is none of your concern, girl.”

The woman whips around suddenly, hazel-green eyes flaring, and marches forward until she stands right in front of him. She’s small, barely reaching the stubble on his chin. He estimates she’s only five foot five, if that.

But despite the chalk in her hair or the smudge of dirt on her button nose, the six-foot-three CEO somehow feels that he’s meeting this woman on even ground. She’s a fierce little thing and he barely resists the urge to sneer as he looks down into her furious gaze.  

From behind him, Thomas hears Finn shift on his feet slightly. His golden-haired nephew has been well-behaved the entire journey and is obviously cataloguing the entire exchange in silence with more than a little curiosity and a whole lot of amusement. Thomas just knows that this whole blasted thing’s going to be shared with his sister and other nephew as soon as they get in the car.  

At the moment though, he doesn’t care because the pixie girl infuriates him, glaring up at him with all her might, her tiny fists clenched at her sides, looking for all the world like a enraged, hissing kitten and all he wants to do (in the abruptly stupid, caveman part of his mind) is _kiss_ her.

(And that particularly enflaming thought feels familiar too – the whole bloody situation’s oddly unsettling. He might have to see Owen).

The girl opens her soft, pink mouth - to yell something rude probably - when abruptly the bell of the bookshop rings loudly and a blur of bouncing black curls rushes in, dodging past Thomas and Finn before slamming into the woman’s side.

“Auntie Bo! Auntie Bo!” A child’s muffled shriek erupts from the little body now firmly attached to one leg. 

And just like that, the woman’s features relax, her round face softening into an affectionate expression, and she ruffled the child’s hair before reaching down and tilting his chin up with a grin. “Hey, Freddie! How’s my favorite little godson today?”

The boy, who’s about 8 years old by his size, looks up at her with bright blue eyes and a shy smile. “Auntie, I’m your _only_ godson,” he cries, affronted.

“And that’s probably why you’re my favorite,” she agrees, grinning mischievously before she ruffles his curls once more. “Now, why don’t you head to the loft and have some lunch, eh? I’ll be right there. These men here are asking me a question.”

The boy whips his head around and looks at Thomas and Finn with wide eyes, as though just realizing they were there. Thomas gives the boy a smile (if slightly strained) while Finn tosses him a cheeky little wave.

Wide blue eyes consider them both with a shocking solemnity before the boy shrugs. “Oh, okay,” Freddie chirps, smiling before running off to what looks like stairs in the back.

Thomas hadn’t even realized the little shop had two stories. The woman watches him go for a moment before glancing back at her visitors.

“Now,” she says, putting a hand on her hip and smirking at him. Thomas feels a little heat rise in his chest when he sees the mischievous look in her bright eyes. “Where were we?”

His deep growl shocks even him. “You were about to tell us the whereabouts of Bob Bagley,” he informs her, crossing his arms to loom over her in an appropriately intimidating fashion.

But the contrary woman merely grins brightly. “Ah, yes.”

Then in a dramatic sweep of her arms, she grabs the corners of her apron and curtsies, head tilted up to look at him with a sassy smirk. “Bob or rather Bobbi Bagley, at your service.”

Thomas feels his face flush and winces while Finn actually bursts into giggles (like a girl) behind him.

He clears his throat and raises his chin slightly, determined to fix the situation. “My apologies then, Ms. Bagley. I – we, I mean, had assumed that the owner was, well, a man,” he grits out, feeling his pride die a little bit inside.

The woman-now-dubbed-Bobbi straightens, and then snorts inelegantly. “Yes, well, I have no doubt about that. Now can you answer my question?” she says. “What do you need the manor for? Don’t you rich city people have some other retreats you can hole up in?”

Thomas bristles at her tone slightly, before straightening. “How do you know we’re rich?”

Bobbi rolls her eyes scornfully, scoffing. “Your boy over there looks like he stepped straight out of an Armani catalogue while you, Mr. _Grouchy_ , are wearing at least three different fashion labels. Also you are buying a _manor_. Not that hard a leap really.” She shrugs her shoulders before her eyes narrow as she appraises them again. “So, what do you do need it for?”

The CEO barely resists the urge to growl again, before Finn jumps in, chirping slightly (because he’s secretly an utter _bastard_ ).  “We’re looking for a new family house and Uncle here needs to hide away from a scary stalker dragon lady.”

Bobbi’s eyes widen as she regards Thomas with open amusement. “Really? A stalker?”

Her tone is filled with disbelief and Thomas finds himself bristling at the unspoken insult. He opens his mouth to admit that yes, it is a stalker, and he has had several in fact over the years and they just won’t _disappear_ no matter what -

But then she finishes her comment with an unimpressed eyebrow and lips twitching into a smile. “Can’t you just glare at them or something to make them go away? Have they even had the pleasure of your delightful company? A few minutes next to you, and I feel positively _hated_ already.”

Bobbi says the last bit with delight and a wicked grin as though that had been her goal all along. Thomas tenses with denial on the tip of his tongue, but he relaxes when he catches the teasing lilt of her smile and the mirth in her gaze. He huffs a laugh and tries to feign offense. It is pretty funny when he considers his own rather admittedly prickly personality.

Finn breaks out into another round of chuckling, bringing a hand to rest on his long-suffering uncle’s shoulder.

“I know!” Finn agrees, entirely too amused for the whole thing. “But this one’s a little bit more immune to Uncle’s Glare of Badass-ery. We’ve tried to fight her off as well, but she’s like a tick on a dog – the dog being Uncle, of course.”

Said Uncle has had enough and whips around to grab his nephew in a chokehold. “That’s quite enough out of you, little brat,” he growls, half-heartedly while Finn struggles in his grip.

Soft laughter reaches his ears and he turns, keeping a good strong hold on the complaining blond, to catch Bobbi, who is watching their antics with soft, dancing eyes.

The warm look on her face takes his breath away and Thomas flushes, abruptly releasing his loudly harping nephew from his grip.

Finn leaps away out of arm’s range and clutches his neck, glaring. “I think you might have left a bruise, Uncle,” he wails.

Thomas rolls his eyes at the dramatics. “Darwin says the ladies dig the rough, manly types. I’m sure you’ll be fine.”

He turns back to their conversation, gesturing a hand to the woman as he squares his broad shoulders. “As you can see, Ms. Bagley, we’re in a bit of a situation and your manor is the perfect place for our rather large family and for our own privacy. We are willing to discuss price now if you want, or we can speak with your financial advisor as well.”

Bobbi hums, bringing a finger to her lips in thought. “Have you even seen the place? It’s a bit of a dump to be honest. You’d have to do some hard work before you move in.”

Thomas thinks that’s a complete understatement (the manor is a _disaster_ , at the moment) but her honesty is refreshing, compared to his usual backstabbing business associates or solicitors, so he tries to be a little bit more delicate.

“We have seen it. It does . . . need a fix-up, but my sister has always loved interior design and this lug behind me can do a lot of the groundwork,” he says, motioning to Finn, who squawks in indignation.

The young woman frowns a moment before yelling up,"Hey Freddie, can you please come down here a moment?" 

Thomas and Finn share a glance as the youngster stumbles down the stairs at the back, looking curious. "Yes, Auntie Bo?" 

"These fine gentlemen here," she tosses a thumb over her shoulder at them, "would like to buy your parents' manor."

"What?" "What?" Thomas and Freddie stare at each other in bewilderment. 

"You want Broddock manor?" the child asks, tilting his head as though Thomas is the crazy one. "Why?" 

Thomas flounders for a moment before Finn comes to his rescue, peeing over his shoulder with a soft grin. "Our family's looking for a new home.," he explains. "And we have a big family that need lots of space. Your manor's perfect, really."  

Freddie's - and oddly enough, Bo's - face goes solemn after that answer, and Thomas to his surprise sees the black-haired boy nod to himself before he looks back to his Auntie Bo. 

"I think they should have it," he says seriously; then he pauses before adding a cheeky grin. "I might want his sunglasses though." 

Bobbi hides a smirk behind her hand then nods, looking oddly pleased. “Very well,” she says, walking lightly around the counter to the cashier. Thomas hears her ruffle through a few papers and documents before clashing with what distinctly sound like metal. He shares a confused look with Finn and moves to voice a question when suddenly a circle of silver keys is thrown at him.

He catches them out of the air barely and looks over the counter at Bobbi, who nods to him with a warm smile.

“There’re the keys to the kingdom,” she says lightly, already waving a hand at them toward the door while distractedly signing some papers. “Take care of it and have fun.”

Her godson just stands by her like a solemn shadow but Thomas can see the smirk in his eyes as well as the bounce in his step as he peers over the counter to watch his aunt write. 

Thomas blinks, utterly bewildered, before looking at the keys then at Finn. His nephew appears just as confused as he is.

Oh, good, it’s not just him.

“What do you mean, Ms. Bagley?” he asks, shaking the keys tightly in his hand.

The woman looks up from her paperwork, then stares at him hard and sighs dramatically, throwing her hands in the air, causing Freddie at her side to giggle. “First off, call me Bo or Bobbi. I haven’t been called Ms. Bagley since like, I was in uni or something.” Then, she points at his hand, emphasizing. “Second, those in your _hand_ right _there_ are the keys to the manor. It’s yours. Go enjoy it.”

She waves them off again as though the conversation is finished and there isn’t anything left to discuss. Finn chokes a little in shock and looks at his uncle with wide eyes.

Thomas has absolutely no idea what to do in this situation because it actually sounds like she just _gave_ him the manor . . . which just doesn’t _happen_.

“Ms. Bag – Bobbi, perhaps you don’t understand how this works,” he says slowly as though explaining to a small child. “You can’t just _give_ us a house.”

“Sure, I can, or rather he can,” she says primly, not even looking up from her paperwork while Freddie nods along. 

Thomas is beginning to find this whole thing insulting and frustrating, particularly the fact that she is _ignoring_ him. “Freddie owned a manor. You wanted to buy said manor. You convinced us to sell said manor at a very reasonable price, if I do say so myself. Now, you own the manor – or at least, you will, if you just sign right here.” Bobbi holds out a pen and the paper she had been signing with a bright smile.

Thomas blinks stupidly at the words on the page, and it takes him a moment to realize that it is in fact the deed to the house. He almost rips it in half to look at closely and then once he confirms it is in _fact_ the deed of the house (what the hell?), he gapes at the petite bookkeeper who is leaning on the counter and smiling at him like a cat with the cream.

“You’re selling it to us for _only 200,000_ pounds?!” Thomas is very certain that he shrieks the last word, but can’t find it in him to care.

Bobbi actually looks affronted for a moment. “Of course not,” she says, before nodding at Freddie. “You will be giving him those sunglasses as well.”

At her side, Freddie starts giggling again, mirth present in his eyes. "Aunt Lacy's going to be so angry," he whispers gleefully to a bewildered Finn, nearly bouncing on his toes. 

Thomas glances down at his shirt, noticing that these are his old Louis Vuitton sunglasses – the ones he’s worn since he was just starting out in the business world. He’s awfully fond of them and sunglasses are such a chore to pick out because of his large beak of a nose. But, he _’_ s getting a _house_ in return so could he complain really?

Then, he realizes the full ridiculousness of the situation and glares back at Bobbi. “You have got to be joking,” he says flatly, face a little blank to hide his tumultuous emotions.

The girl actually has the gall to chuckle at him – _him_ who is a business tycoon with oodles of money and was bluffing his way through legal proceedings and business deals when she was probably still in diapers.

“Why don’t you sign it and see if I am?” she challenges, motioning toward the deed with a strange sort of dare hidden in her gaze. “It could be an _adventure._ ”

He doesn’t know why he does it. It could be the challenging look in her eyes. It could be the fact that he wanted to call her bluff and wipe that smug smirk off her face (because it _has_ to be bluff, right?). It could be because he _needed_ that manor – if only for his own sanity away from the city. Either way, he doesn’t realize what he’s done until his written name is standing out on the ownership document in bright black ink. It looks _right_ and isn’t that strange on so many levels?

Finn whistles in shock, looking at the deed from over his shoulder. “I cannot believe you did that, Uncle,” he says, voice a little awed. “Mum and Cousin Ben are going to _kill_ you.”

Thomas winces, but then reminds himself that this is just a farce and he’s calling her bluff.

To his utter surprise, Bobbi takes the deed, signing it herself, before handing it back and holding out a hand. “Sunglasses, please,” she orders, curling her fingers slightly.

He growls, ripping them roughly off his shirt and handing him to her. If it’s all a farce, he can always come back here and demand them. She opens them up and plops them neatly on Freddie's smiling face.

“Alrighty, then,” the eccentric woman nods to herself, grinning with something akin to satisfaction. “I believe the appropriate etiquette after a successful business transaction is to shake on it.”

She holds out her hand, eyes challenging him and sparking a flame in his gut. Thomas sneers at her, but he takes it, wrapping his large paw over her delicate one and clasping it tightly (and maybe relishing in the smooth slim fingers as well).

Freddie's eyes behind the sunglasses glance between them curiously when Bobbi shivers at his touch (either his hands are cold or . . .) but holds the tall man's gaze before they shake once then release hands. 

His fingers curl at the unexpected lack of warmth (Thomas feels a flash of overwhelming, heart-wrenching grief, like he’s just lost something precious, before it disappears) and there is an awkward silence as they stare at each other. 

“So, the deal is done,” she sniffs airily, then frowns. “You can send us the money when you want and well, I have some shop work to do and a godson to wrangle and you have quite the house to repair, so let’s get to it, shall we?”

The eccentric little woman bustles them out of the bookshop, herding them like cattle, with Freddie giggling at her heels, and the only reason Thomas think he lets her is because he’s fairly certain he’s going into some sort of shock.

Finn doesn’t even try to fight it; he’s laughing so hard that Thomas is blatantly amazed he’s still standing.

Suddenly, they’re outside the Bag’s End bookstore again and the door is closed with a sign on the front, saying that the owner has gone to lunch.

Head spinning, Thomas blinks once at the closed bookshop then down at the signed deed of the manor before looking up to meet his nephew’s eyes.        

“Fuck,” he breathes. “What just happened?”

To his great annoyance, Finn just bursts out laughing all over again, immediately reaching for his phone. “Oh my god! That was the greatest thing – like _ever_. Kenn’s going to _so_ jealous he missed this. Look at your face! I just have to take a picture!” 

Well, that just cannot happen.

Thomas has to listen to Finn whining about his recently (purposely) broken phone all the way back to the city. It’s totally worth it.

**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> . . . So I am totally winging this thing. All will be explained in later chapters, i.e. Freddie, the manor, why they sold it so cheaply, Bobbi's POV, Aunt Lacy, etc. Looking forward to reviews and let me know if you can see where this is going.

**Author's Note:**

> Good day, good reader. This was just an idea bouncing around. While I do have a couple more chapters written up and ready to be posted, updates will be erratic. Looking forward to your reviews.


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